We're Tramping

For the past several months, whenever we ventured off-road, my husband would announce we're tramping. According to wiki, tramping is walking over rough country carrying all the required food and equipment; the term is generally used for trips that are of at least one overnight stay in the backcountry. Therefore, I'm fairly certain our New Zealand tramp count stands at....zero. Today, we decided to take one more non-tramp in New Zealand.

Rangitoto Island is a volcanic island rising out of the Auckland Harbour, for me, it is my favourite landmark in Auckland. For kilometer after kilometer, it has been my companion as I ran the shoreline. As I gazed out at it, I imagined a scarred and barren landscape, red brown and covered in lava stones. I was wrong.

As the ferry approached the island, I was surprised to discover there were trees, lots of trees. Not only trees, but there were a handful of baches (cottages) scattered along the waterfront. My barren island had once supported seven hundred permanent residents! We disembarked and began the one hour climb to the summit; obviously the people who climbed in an hour did not have a three-year old and they were not six months pregnant. Although the trail was obvious, it did have it's challenges in random jutting lava rocks, the occasional root, and slippery leaves. After allowing Mikaela to walk and play hide-and-seek for over an hour, we began to panic that we wouldn't make it to the summit in time to return for the last ferry. Dave, once again, showed he was an IronMan. He hefted our forty pound daughter, and carried her to the summit. I panted my way behind them, hoping I wasn't cooking the foetus. Twice, Dave suggested we give up and start heading down...particularly when one section that should have taken us five minutes took fourteen, but we persevered. And the view was worth it...

The Rainy Season

When Dave first arrived in NZ last year, one of his first blog entries called the weather annoying. At home safely under the July skies, I scoffed at this description. How could anyone call 14 degrees in the dead of winter annoying? It sure sounded sweet to me.

Over the course of the past two weeks, I now understand this description. The weather really does alternate between brilliant sunshine and plummeting rain all day long. With my time here winding down, I often think I should get out and do more...and yet, I loathe the daily drenchings. Interestingly enough, the Aucklanders seem completely unphased. They do not wear raincoats, and only the staunchest carry umbrellas. As each downpour begins, I can't help but sprint for the nearest tree or bus stop...that alone identifies me as a tourist :-)

Dangly Bits

From the beginning, this pregnancy has been significantly different from my first. Not that my first pregnancy didn't have its share of glorious symptoms but they were minor irritations, instead, this time I found myself intimately aware of how inadequate the couch is in this rental. For the better part of the first four months, I was useless. The limited energy I possessed was expended on Mikaela, and my short temper and grumpy disposition were showered on Dave. As such, I began to think of this baby as a boy. My logic followed that only a boy could wreck this much havoc on my normally energetic, on-the-go lifestyle.

Since Mikaela's best friend, Bianca, had a baby brother, she seemed content to accept my opinion that I was carrying a boy and she began requesting we draw pictures of her baby brother. Dave also felt I was correct due to the marked differences in the pregnancies, but he secretly held out hope that we would be proven wrong with another little girl.

With the approach of the 20-week anatomy ultrasound, we wavered on whether to find out the gender. Should we? Or shouldn't we? As the technician went through the scan, there were lots of beautiful, perfects, and looks good. Although I was extremely happy to know all was well with baby Stachon, I found I couldn't get the question of the gender out of my head. I wanted to know, and I wanted to know NOW!

It pains me to admit, I was wrong, so very wrong. In the technician's words, there were no dangly bits ;-)

Kudos from Kids

As parents, we often lament the overwhelming lack of appreciation from our offspring. Never once have I heard a child say thank you for the clean laundry, the supper I rejected, or cleaning up the vomit in my bed. Over the course of the last couple weeks though, I have to admit that Mikaela has been doling out encouragement. First it was the exclamations of "You know all the colours!" as I recited them in English, French, and Spanish at her request. Next, it was "Good counting!" as we repeatedly counted her Easter eggs in all three languages. And finally this morning, I was rewarded with a "You make me so happy!" when she heard me go wees in the toilet. I'll take whatever kudos I can get...

My Own Backyard

For months now, I've spent hours reading about what's what in New Zealand. I've sifted through the fluff, and decided what was on the must-do list, the wouldn't-it-be-nice-to-do list, and the damn-I'm-too-pregnant-to-do list. While undertaking this research, one cannot help but think of all the interesting places and activities that I've yet to experience in both Canada and the US. It could be something as simple as a day-trip to the Lusk Caves in Gatineau Park or visiting Boldt Castle in 1000 Islands. Alternately, I'd love to visit Jasper National Park in Alberta, the Grand Canyon in Nevada, or return to Gros Morne in Newfoundland. There are cities on my wish list too - Quebec, New Orleans, and San Francisco are all near the top of the list. The challenge, of course, is to balance the desire to see my own backyard with the desire to experience other countries. Perhaps alternating vacations are the answer...one vacation in Canada, one vacation abroad. Now if only we could win the lotto...

Bay of Islands & the Kauri Coast

With my time winding down in New Zealand, the Easter weekend provided a good opportunity to check a few more boxes on my NZ wish list. In an attempt to avoid the worst of the long weekend traffic, we departed Auckland on Friday morning. It would seem others had the same idea and the first few hours of the drive were filled with much stopping and starting; Dave even began to suggest we throw in the towel and just go home. I *think* he was kidding. After four hours on the road, we finally arrived at our destination - the picturesque Bay of Islands, specifically Paihia.

In a country full of 'picturesque' locations, I have to admit that the Bay of Islands was a bit disappointing. I mean, sure, it was pretty but Akaroa was prettier, the Coromandel Peninsula is prettier. Heck, I even think Piha is prettier. For scenery, I just don't think I'd put the Bay of Islands at the top of my list. On the other hand, it was a fabulous location for history! There is the Wantangi Treaty Grounds, considered the birthplace of New Zealand, Russell, the first capital of New Zealand, and historical buildings galore in the region. To amuse Mikaela, there was also shape-drawing in the sand, rock throwing in the water, and hide-and-go-seek in the gardens - all free of charge.

I would absolutely put the Bay of Islands on any itinerary of the North Island, but then, I'm a sucker for museums. Dave says he could spend minutes reading about the Treaty House, he means that, he literally spent a few minutes glancing over the information before moving on. I could spend hours, scrutinizing each photo, envisioning the original structure prior to the add-ons, and wondering if that statue is an eel or snake. I love the fact that they have a waka (canoe) that will hold 86 warriors, but I also want to know that it was built with wood from three different Kauri trees. And, not only that, I like knowing that these trees were blessed prior to the chopping down and that the Maori had to relearn lost skills to create the waka. I leave these sights filled with useless information that fascinates me and bores Dave as I try to impart my enthusiasm. He is a good sport though, and I appreciate all the time he spends chasing Mikaela while I indulge in my luxurious museum wanderings.

Yesterday, on the way home, we decided to take the road less travelled through the Waipoua State Forest. There are a number of tracks maintained by the Department of Conservation (DOC) to allow visitors to view some of New Zealand's largest trees. Although I know we have bigger trees in Canada, I still wanted very much to witness the large kauri trees of New Zealand. They were incredible. On each track, there would be a number of large kauri trees that would put any tree I'd ever seen to shame until finally we would arrive at our destination and stand in awe of the 13.77m diametre Tane Matuna or the 16.71m diametre Te Maua Ngahere. It was a big hit with Mikaela too, as she ran through the forest, hiding in tree trunk holes or amongst the tall grasses!

Kiwi In Training

One of the most common questions I heard prior to leaving Canada was Do you think Mikaela will develop a Kiwi accent? This seemed a highly unlikely possibility since she would continue to spend most of her time with me, the most she/ could hope for were some grammatical errors to drive Dave crazy. What I didn't account for, was the variation in her vocabulary as a result of our time in New Zealand.

A few months ago, Mikaela started referring to the bathroom as the toilet. This is not unheard of in Canada, but we do seem to prefer the more polite term. As I strive to make the toilet training a strife-free experience, in the desperate hope that she may (again) embrace the idea someday, I changed my vocabulary to be in sync with her daycare. I would ask if she needed to go to the toilet or make wees. This morning, she went one better, and referred to garbage as rubbish. With the hiring of a part-time Kiwi nanny last week, I wonder if she'll soon be calling the living room the lounge, her stroller the buggy, and searching for her togs to wear to the pool. On the day she exclaims Sweet As, I'll know she's been officially converted.

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=sweet%20as

One Down, Two to Go.

I've longed for the day that the first trimester would be done; in my mind, that would signal the return to my normal life. The one I left behind seven weeks ago, it was filled with energy, exercise, and tasty food. So I now sit, twelve weeks and three days, and its not here yet. There have been many improvements over the past couple weeks, but I'm an impatient gal.

In the meanwhile, I'll have to settle for the knowledge that baby Stachon is progressing normally. All expected appendages were accounted for in my ultrasound yesterday and I saw the heart beat. Six weeks until my next appointment, and only two more trimesters to go.

Ironman Dave

If your husband ever asks to do an Ironman, say No! Do not be lured in by the fact that you think it's kewl. Do not be distracted by the fact that you think it's an incredible accomplishment. And most of all, do not be encouraging because you want to say you're married to an Ironman ;-)

As early as September, I would occasionally catch Dave surfing the Ironman New Zealand websites. I'd be giddy with excitement, was my husband going to an Ironman? Arguably one of the most difficult fitness events in the world, and one that I sadly have determined I most likely could not complete within the seventeen hour time limit...but Dave, Dave could stomp on that time limit. As December dawned, he wavered in indecision. I loudly encouraged from my corner, ignoring all his cons and focusing on the one pro that mattered - bragging rights. Ultimately, he committed to the event and the first of many outlays of cash began - $750 entry fee.

These are the reasons not to allow your husband to do an Ironman :-)

• He rises at 5 am most mornings to train and expects you to be cheerful and supply french toast on his return.
• He needs new running sneakers, new running gear, and new livestrong sunglasses. His aerobars and wetsuit need to be shipped from Canada.
• He must rent lighter, faster disc wheels and while you're paying for that, why not spring for the aerodynamic helmet too.
• He spends hours working and reworking his training plan, colour coding his weekly totals. In addition to the hours spent training, there are the hours spent trolling the triathlon forums, assembling his gear, and wishing he was able to sleep. Insomnia seemed an active participant in Dave's training.
• He is constantly stretching and massaging himself post-training, often reeking of his spearmint Anti-Inflame goo.
• He analyses every sniffle and soreness with excruciating detail trying to determine if his Ironman is in jeopardy. And despite my genetic predisposition to not be sympathetic, he expects me to reassure him repeatedly that his Ironman is indeed not in jeopardy.

It was with disappointment that Dave noticed I was pregnant, his first clue was that I no longer rose to make him french toast. He began whineing to his mates that my pregnancy was really impacting his Ironman! Luckily, my mom has been visiting and managing to feed us all and keep his training gear laundered.

The Bonita Ironman New Zealand took place this past weekend in Taupo; for the uninitiated, an Ironman consists of a 3.8k swim, a 180k bike, followed by a 42.2k run. Yes, that would be a marathon.

Race day began for us at 5 am, Dave ate his french toast and then hopped around awaiting the time to go. As I was trying to squeeze a few more moments of shut-eye, I suggested he conserve some of that energy for the race course but he could not be still. By 6 am, I'd dropped him off at the changing area and began to make my way to the lakefront for the mass start. There were literally thousands of spectators there, as 6:30 am approached a long waka (canoe) full of Maori warriors made it's way chanting across the lake to encourage the days participants. For some reason, this image would trigger the first of many emotional moments for me. These 1500 participants have trained for months and they have made many sacrifices to get to that start line. My eyes welled up with tears and my throat becomes tight as I watch them enter the water, some may say its the pregnancy hormones but the quiet anticipation in the crowd seemed to indicate that I was not the only person having a moment. There were 453 first-timers in the field, and my heart especially went out to them as I envisioned the perseverance they would need as they navigated the world of hurt that awaited them on this day.

At 7 am, the cannon fired and they were off. It was a sea of blue and green bathing caps, thrashing and advancing. Inevitably, the field begins to string out until it literally cuts a single line over a kilometer long. One by one, the participants emerge from the water and begin the long run to the first transition zone. As I cheer along this progression, the slogan ordinary people doing extraordinary things is exemplified. It is with relief that Dave emerges from the water well within his predicted time, I'm rewarded with a smile for my 'Go, Poobah Go'. As he makes his way to the transition zone, I join the line of supporters peeling away from the swim exit to secure their spot along the bike route. At 8:28 am, my spandex-clad husband emerges and again, my cheers are rewarded when he sees me along the route. For some reason, this acknowledgement of my presence makes me feel useful and I hustle off to locate Mikaela for the next cheering location.

As a spectator, you are bound by estimates. You never know exactly when to expect someone, you have estimates but there are so many variables on the course that it is by no means an exact science. If I was childless, this would probably be a moot point. I could have happily stood at the side of the road cheering all day, as it was, I tried to limit the time I subjected Mikaela to my wild cheering and clapping. At 11:01 am, Dave blew by our cheering station with a big smile. He was ahead of schedule and would lose this advantage on the second lap, but all the same, it was a pleasure to see him. Three hours later, he made his last foray past us on the bike approaching the 180k mark. The run was two laps, this was the difficult stage to estimate. Dave's plan was to run eight minutes and walk two minutes for the first 30k, then to bring it home at a full run if he was feeling strong. I made my way to the turn around point for 4:15 pm and waited. It was an exciting time to be at the turn around point, as it also served as the entry to the finishing stretch. Although I had missed the first few elite men, I did get to witness the first three women and several of the later elite men. They were incredible, so strong and so happy as they ran down the final stretch of cheering crowds to the finish. At 4:45 pm, Dave made his way past us - only 21k left to go.

For the finish, I wanted Mikaela with me. I returned to fetch her and my parents for the final leg. Since it had taken Dave 2:30 to complete the first half of the run, I optimistically planned to arrive for his finish two hours later. For various reasons, I was almost fifteen minutes late arriving. As I was making my way towards the run course, my Dad says "there goes Dave". It can't be, but as I look, it certainly looks like Dave and if I don't sprint to the finishing stretch, I'm going to miss him! I abandon Mikaela to my parents, and take off. I'm taking the camera out of the bag as I go, I manage to make it to the finishing straight and snap a picture of him. I run a bit further and try for the standard shot with the clock in the background. I'm pleased to see that he's done, his first Ironman and a sub-twelve hour finish! And I succumb to the final emotional moment of the day, I laugh, I cry and then I notice the lens cover is still on the camera!

For all my big talk, I'd support Dave again and again as he trains for any type of event. If you've ever witnessed me watching Dave as he performs with the symphony, you'll have a good idea of the amount of pride I feel right now for my Ironman. Congratulations Poobah :-)

For the more technical review by Dave, you can check out his posting on one of those afore-mentioned triathlon forums:

http://forum.slowtwitch.com/gforum.cgi?post=2236832

Unfit, or Unparanoid - You Decide

As children, our parents probably all left us in the car at some point. Or perhaps you were kicking the back of your father's seat and kicked out of the car at the tender age of five to make your way home? For the record, I walked to my Aunt's house and made up a fabulous story about my parents forgetting me at the park - they do have five kids to corral - only to have my story invalidated by my parents arrival too. They'd been watching from a few car lengths behind as I walked.

Today, I was chastised for leaving Mikaela in the car while I ran an errand. We were parked in the closest parking space to the library steps, literally right next to them. She was engrossed with eating her pink frosted cupcake and had expressed no interest in joining me to drop off our library books. As it was four steps and another eight footsteps to reach the return box just inside the door, I was willing to lock her in the car and make the thirty second trip solo. It was broad daylight with the usual comings and goings of any library, all in all, I felt this was as safe an environment as when I dash in to pay for my gasoline purchases.

As I reached the top of the steps, an older lady stopped me...
Old Lady: I don't mean to be rude, but why are you leaving your child unattended in the car?
Me, offended at being thought an inadequate mother: I'm just popping inside the door to drop off my books.
Old Lady: Then I'll do it for you.
Me, annoyed at how this conversation has taken longer than dropping off the books would have: I'll drop them off at the outside return box if it'll make you feel better.
Old Lady: Yes, it would.

As luck would have it, the outside return box was locked. The old lady stared at me as I crossed back to the car, unlocked it, and collected Mikaela. Although I can appreciate that she was concerned for my child's safety, am I so wrong in believing a child can be left alone in a locked car for thirty seconds? Logically, many of us know that there are very few cases of children being abducted by strangers yet we are often paralyzed by the possibility. I'm not trying to be flippant, and I'm sure I will ruffle a few feathers, but did she really think someone was going to smash my car window, reach in and unlock the door, extract Mikaela, and make off with her in broad daylight in an area frequented by Moms & Tots, and the Elderly? I think not.

Go Breakers Go

When one thinks of New Zealand sports, it most generally is rugby, perhaps cricket or even the odd sailing regatta...but do they ever think of basketball? There's a reason for this. There is exactly one professional basketball team in New Zealand, the NZ Breakers, and they are no Toronto Raptors.

It is thus, a surprise, when I find myself sitting in equivalent of a community centre gymnasium, watching the NZ Breakers take on the Cairns Taipans two days before Valentine's. It is the last day of a week long heat wave, and my pregnancy-enhanced olfactory senses are overwhelmed with the smell of sweat, grease, and nasty sausage rolls. Once my stomach contents have been emptied, I return to my seats to take in the full glory of this event.

Upon entering the event, we were handed noise makers and instructions on when and how to participate in the various chants and cheers of the evening. Thus begins two hours of the noisiest sports event of my life, I mean it. There was a six person percussion section to lead us in the always catchy Defense or Go, Breakers, Go. Like a train wreck, my attention is next drawn to the Breaker Girls; I believe they are supposed to be cheerleaders but mostly they gyrate and grind to music in the court corners during every pause in play. Initially, I thought they were wearing hooker boots as part of their ensemble, but I'm happy to report they were merely black Mary Jane's with black socks pulled up to their knees. There are other girls, we'll call them the Sponsorship Girls dressed in low cut lulu-esque pants with teeny, tiny tops that occasionally paraded around the stands tossing out beach balls or chocolate bars. As a side note, never sit in the front row, you will not get any of said Freebies and it will make your husband's staring too obvious. It is loud, brash, and a blow-out.

Mental note: Never let Dave arrange another double date :-)

Things I Miss, Volume II

Perhaps this should really be called the Restaurant Edition, as with the early days of my last pregnancy, I seem incapable of cooking meat, chopping raw veggies, or summoning the energy to go get groceries most days. I know this will pass, but in the meanwhile, I can't help thinking of my favorite restaurants that do take-out.

• The Works, in particular, I dream of the M.E.C. burger with it's creamy avocado, sun-dried tomatoes, and yummy feta. I've tried to find a New Zealand substitute, but Burger Fuel (http://www.burgerfuel.com/flash.html), Wisconsin Burger (http://www.wisconsin.co.nz/index.html), and Velvet Burger can't compare.
• New Mee Fung, in particular #305 with BBQ Chicken. If I'm feeling especially decadent, I include non-deep fried pork spring rolls with Peanut Sauce. In a country full of Asian immigrants, I'm certain there must be a fabulous Vietnamese restaurant but I haven't found it yet.
• Pilos. Dave & I have both tried various versions of the New Zealand Chicken Souvlaki. We've been disappointed time and time again; One in Christchurch resembled chicken chili in a pita, complete with fork to aid eating, that's just wrong. Chicken Souvlaki should be simple, thick garlicky tzatziki with onions, tomatoes, and marinated chicken in a Greek pita. Period. Pilos does one heck of a simple, delicious Chicken Souvlaki.
• Sandrellas. Although one can find Kebab shops in every neighbourhood, I've not seen a Shawarma shop in all of New Zealand. I fondly look forward to a Chicken Shawarma on warm Cheese Pita when I return to work.

So, any takers for a lunch date? And Bobbi & Carmen, any chance of a Welcome Back Wafflefest? You can't go wrong with waffles, fresh fruit, blueberry coulis, and whipped cream!

It takes Two.

Marathon check. Baby next.

Naive, I know that now. Yet, I truly believed that it would be that easy. Although Dave was reluctant, he did appear committed in those early months and then, unbeknownst to me, began the New Zealand Effect. Dave didn't want a Kiwi baby, not that he doesn't like Kiwis, it was the fear of juggling a newborn, a three-year old, and a sleep-deprived wife in a foreign country with no family. Although I would continue trying, it would become painfully obvious that my attempts at trickery were no match for a man with the above fears.

Finally, as we entered December, he relented. He'd done the math, any babies conceived from here on in would be born back in the security of our Canadian Public Health Care System, with my Federal Government Maternity Benefits, and the help of wonderful family and friends. Our South Island vacation resulted not only in some fabulous memories and great pictures, but Baby Stachon is on their way. Finally ;-)

Seal Swim Kaikoura

A few years ago, Dave & I splurged to Swim with the Dolphins at Xel-Ha in Mexico. It was incredible, but, as I realize now, it must pale in comparison to swimming with dolphins in the wild. The little town of Kaikoura on the east coast of the South Island is a marine playground, it caters to the tourists with whale watching tours, dolphin watching tours, and swimming with the seals. As Seal Swim Kaikoura provided us with a sitter, we opted to give them our money and go for a swim.

Prior to heading out to sea, there was the glamorous exercise of putting on our borrowed wetsuits. Mine was a two piece one that I had difficulty getting the between the legs piece fastened, therefore, it was with great dignity that I walked out of the shop and down the block to board the bus - tight wetsuit with extra tail aswinging. Dave helped put me at easy with his Lookin' Good MoeMoe ;-) At the wharf, we were given the safety rules and the logic behind them. The most important of which was stay low in the water, seals judge threat based on stature so as long as we stayed low in the water they would become curious about us but not feel threatened by us.

As if to underline the differences in our two swimming experiences, the weather was gray, cold, and rainy while Mexico had been hot, blue, and sparkling. We bumped over the waves in our little boat, the envy of all with our borrowed wetsuit hoods zipped up to keep us warm. Our tour guide took us to a little creek formed by high tide on the rocky outposts of the seal colony, he instructed us to enter the water and then make our way slowly along the edge of the creek and then wait. The water was shockingly cold, as we made our way into the creek, I could watch the involuntary shivering of Dave's buttocks through his wetsuit.

On either side of the creek, we could see seals resting and playing. Now we waited, it wasn't long before the first seals slide off the rocks to frolic in the water ahead of us. It almost seemed as if they were trying to demonstrate their prowess compared to our uninspired creeping. Above us, we could hear seals posturing with loud grunts and chest thumping. I was terrified but intrigued. As the seals came closer, the urge to run was palpable. It was amazing to look a seal in the eyes underwater; as the first one swam by me I couldn't help but hold my breath. I never felt unsafe, but I never felt safe either. There was no doubt, these animals were wild. At one point, Dave and I looked up to find the seal on the rock above us baring his teeth - we sunk lower in the water, don't mind us. Eventually, the icy cold water forced us to slowly make our way back to the boat. As a matter of pride, the Canadians outlasted the Limeys in the water.

Dave & I agree, this is definitely a MUST DO when touring New Zealand.